Without a Word
by jzhanfan
Summary: Updated with new content post TFA. Chapter 1 is what came spilling out from me when I first saw "the hug" in the trailer. Later chapters added to fill in the gaps and support my version of H/L relationship post ROTJ, pre-TFA. AU because JJ is better funded than I am. Rated T to be safe.
1. Initial impressions

_Author's note - this is what came spilling out of me after a hundred viewings of the trailer for TFA and the hug between Han and Leia._

 **Leia**

They were surrounded by people, but she saw no one else but Han.

Her hands slid automatically beneath his jacket, wrapping around the familiar contours of his body. She closed her eyes and buried herself against his chest; and for a moment she was a young girl again and everything was all right, so long as she was in his arms.

He was here. He was whole. He was home. He was hers.

But then she felt him swallow a sob, heard his ragged breath, and she wondered if she had ever been that young, and if anything would ever be right again.

She wouldn't ask why he was favoring his left leg or whose blood was dried on his shirt. She'd pretended not to notice the sharp intake of breath, the wince of pain as her arms tightened around his ribs.

She would be strong, because she was always the strong one.

She didn't ask, " _Why didn't you tell me?"_ because she already knew his answer. She'd understood. She'd even agreed, at the time.

He hadn't said he was sorry, but he hadn't needed to say it. She thought she might crumble under the weight of his regret, and she knew that he was as afraid as she was that they'd been wrong, all those years ago.

" _I can't do this alone anymore,"_ she thought. _"_ _I'm so tired."_ And what she longed to say was, _"Please, don't leave again. I've lost everything. I can't lose you, too."_ But she couldn't say that, because his arms pulled her closer and his lips were against her ear, and she heard the anguish in his voice as he said her name. She knew he would stay if she asked, and she knew better than to ask.

She pressed harder into the familiar strength of his chest, and drank in the comfort of his presence. His hair was long and unkempt, he smelled of soot, and the stubble of his jaw was rough against the thin skin at her temples. But he'd tucked her beneath his chin as easily as he always had, and she fit as perfectly as ever. His hand cradled her head with the same fierce tenderness as it had the first time he'd kissed her, and the tug of his fingers in her hair still made her toes curl inside her boots.

Neither of them had ever been perfect, but it had never mattered.

" _I love you,"_ she thought. _"I love you so much."_

And although she hadn't spoken the words aloud, he answered her anyway.

 **Han**

Flying the _Falcon_ again, after all these years, he'd forgotten – for a while, at least – that he was an old man. He'd managed to convince himself that these kids needed him, that he was doing the right thing. And – although he'd never admit it - he'd sort of been having fun.

But he'd missed her, every moment.

He'd watched her crossing the tarmac, in full view of a thousand curious eyes. Her back was straight and her head was high. She came slowly – running wouldn't have been dignified – but she walked with purpose, and the crowd parted for her. She'd stopped, a few steps away from him, and planted her hands on her hips. He knew that pose by heart.

The man he'd been a lifetime ago would have shouted, would have argued with her, would have made a spectacle in public. He also would have lifted her off her feet, whirled her in a dizzy circle, and kissed her like there was no tomorrow, but that would have come later. "Later" was something they used to take for granted.

Today, he knew that "now" was what mattered, and he simply held out his arms, offering her a sad and lopsided smile. A lifetime of shared experience filled the space between them for a long moment that nearly became awkward, and then the smile began in her eyes, the smile that was only for him.

He took one long stride toward her and then he was gathering her close, wrapping a strong arm around her waist. She slid her hands beneath his jacket, as she always did, settling them at the small of his back. This simple gesture infused their embrace with an aura of intimacy while still maintaining the appearance of propriety, and his reaction was the same as it always had been. For a moment her shoulders shook as she laughed softly, nudging him with her hips to let him know she'd noticed, and then her laughter faded and he felt, rather than heard, the brief sniffle that was buried in the depths of his shirt. He knew she wouldn't cry, not here. But his arms tightened around her anyway, because he knew how close she'd come.

She was so small. In his mind she stood tall and proud, stronger than all of them. In his memory she was always full of fire and nerve and she never hesitated. But here, in his arms, she was a tired old woman carrying the weight of a galaxy on her shoulders, and her heart was breaking.

He wished, more than anything, that he could make things right. But he couldn't. No one could.

All he could do was hold her. It was all he had ever been able to do. It had always been enough.

" _I'm sorry, Leia_ ," he thought. " _I'm so sorry. I'm sorry I wasn't here when you needed me. I'm sorry I have to leave again."_ But the words wouldn't come. All he managed was her name, in a voice that was thick with pain and loss and regret.

Still hidden under his jacket, a slender hand trailed along his ribs and came up to rest on his chest, her palm spread flat over his pounding heart. She understood. She'd always understood.

He tipped his head back to tuck her against the hollow of his throat, breathing in her scent and savoring the soft brush of her hair beneath his jaw. Her head fit perfectly in the palm of his hand, and his fingers closed, tightly, in the fine threads of her hair.

He'd never been good with words. It didn't matter, though - because there was really only one thing to say. It was what he always said.

"I know."


	2. Han

_Author's Note: I've updated and added to the original scene I wrote in response to the trailer, to make it fit with the context of the actual film now that I've seen it. But I'm still firm in my vision of their love story, and I think they got the short end of the stick. So this story is now officially AU, because JJ is a fan and his fiction has Disney's blessing. And their funding. And mine is, well... mine._

 _PS – this version assumes you've seen The Force Awakens so, proceed accordingly._

 _1 – during Han and Leia's first scene together in the movie_

 **Han**

Resistance fighters poured out of the transport, dispersing quickly to create a perimeter. No one paid any attention to the old man standing still, staring at the transport's open hatch, waiting.

He felt her eyes on him before he saw her, emerging from the dark interior of the ship. She strode directly to him, without hesitation, and without acknowledging any of the personnel around her. Her lips were a thin line and for a moment he braced himself for her to shout, to chastise him for whatever he'd done that didn't meet her expectations. All at once her face softened and she smiled, the precious and particular smile that was only for him. He felt one side of his mouth twist upward in automatic response and his left arm lifted, without his planning it, intending to embrace her. The arm dropped back to his side when she stopped, a few strides away from him, watching him in that way she had. Seeing all the way into his heart.

"You changed your hair." It wasn't what he'd meant to say, and her head cocked slightly to the side, the smile widening. She knew what he'd been thinking. She'd worn her hair down, brushing her shoulders, the last time he'd seen her, and covered the grey with whatever women used to change their hair color. But the soft braid wrapped around her head, shot through with grey though it was, was an uncanny echo of the style she'd worn for so long.

Behind him here was a soft snort of Wookiee amusement - ["Good one, Slick"] - which he pretended not to have heard. His eyes never left hers.

"You still have the same jacket," she gestured with her chin, and he looked down, confused at her statement. What did she mean, the same jacket? "It's a new jacket," he insisted, indignantly, although he noticed that the condition of said jacket no longer could be described as "new". He caught the sadness her eyes as he looked back at her and understood she was seeing the same echo in him, of the man who'd worn that other jacket long after it ceased to fit properly. He felt his own smile fade. Who was he kidding? He wasn't that brash young smuggler any more, no matter how hard he tried to maintain the façade. He was an old man, and running away hadn't made anything better.

Maybe Maz was right. Maybe it was time to go home.


	3. Leia

_2 – missing moment between Han and Leia, on transport to the Resistance base_

Leia

She'd left an empty seat next to her when she strapped in for takeoff, and she is beginning to think he stayed with Chewie on the _Falcon_ when suddenly he's there, standing in the aisle, looking down at her. His hands are in his pockets and he looks… apprehensive. Han Solo, unsure of himself. When had that happened? He gestures with his chin at the empty seat, raising his eyebrows in a silent question.

She nods – _of course it's your seat, nerfherder –_ and then closes her eyes while his jacket brushes her forehead as he passes in front of her to reach the empty chair. She feels the heat of his body moving against her side as he settles into the seat and straps himself in. When he is still, she tilts her head to the left, eyes still closed, and feels his arm drop around her shoulders.

She stretches her hand across his lap, and his hand, warm and familiar, is there waiting. Their fingers weave together, his thumb tracing the shape of the ring she wears. Does he wonder why she still wears it? _No,_ she thinks, _surely h_ _e knows._ For her the ring is the only tangible reminder of the things she keeps locked away inside of her. He has his talismans, too. They both have reason to forget, but she doubts that either of them could. Their hearts were torn apart years ago, and the broken pieces are held together most precariously. To forget would be to let go, and neither of them have ever been very good at that.

"Rey," she whispers, softly. "It's really Rey, isn't it?"

His voice is a rumble in his chest beneath her cheek, and a gentle flutter of breath in her ear. "Yeah."

"She doesn't know, does she?"

"No."

"Oh, Han…" She bites her lip, hard. There's so much to say, but she can't fall apart now, not here. It's her job, to be the General.

His hand tightens on her shoulder. "I know," he sighs.

She nods, digging her head into the hollow of his shoulder as she squeezes his hand tightly, her breath unsteady. He raises their entwined fingers to his lips and brushes the back of her hand with the briefest of kisses. His chin is rough with stubble and she lets her thumb slide against it for a moment before their two hands drop back to his lap.

The crew members in the seats nearby speak in lowered voices, hesitant to disturb this unexpected scene. They are young, and none of them have known the General long, but they all know the stories. Some of them sneak looks at the man who sits beside her, a legend come to life.

They travel to the base in silence, because it's been years since they needed words to tell each other how they feel.

He holds her, because it's what he always does. And she lets him, because in his arms, she is able to believe, for the moment at least, that things will be all right.


	4. Leia, again

_3 - Han and Leia's farewell scene, incorporates some of the original story_

 **Leia**

She crossed the field slowly, wishing she could make this moment last. Wishing she could keep him here with her, just this once.

He seemed to sense her approach and stopped his work on the Falcon, wiping his hands on a rag and turning to give her that lopsided grin that always caused her heart to skip a beat. Across the years she heard his voice, long ago in the circuitry bay of this very ship. "My hands are dirty, too. What are you afraid of?"

She'd been afraid of so many things back then, afraid to let herself feel again after the loss of Alderaan. Feeling nothing, she'd decided, was better than heartbreak. Han had changed her mind about that, and about a lot of things, and that day in the circuitry bay had been the first step. Would her life have been simpler, if she hadn't let him in? Maybe. But it wouldn't have been much fun.

"No matter how much we fought," she said, "I always hated watching you leave."

He shrugged. "That's why I left. To make you miss me."

Unexpectedly, laughter bubbled up inside her and she heard herself chuckle. "I always missed you." He smiled and laughed with her and for a moment it was like it had been long ago, on the good days. Despite everything, there had been some very, very good days.

"I missed you, too." Her surprise at this admission must have been evident, because he cocked his head and asked, "Come on, it wasn't all bad, was it?" His words were so close to her own thoughts that all she could do was shake her head, and that was all it took for her laughter to dissolve into tears, tears that poured freely, but silently, down her cheeks.

Then his hand was in her hair and he was pulling her to him with the same fierce tenderness as he had the first time he'd kissed her. The memory of that kiss, and of a thousand others they'd shared in the years since then, still made her toes curl inside her boots. She always forgot, when they were apart, the sheer power of her need for him. He infuriated her sometimes and he made her laugh sometimes, but he always awoke something inside of her that lay silent when he was away.

Maybe her life would have been simpler without him, but without him, she might never have known what it was to be truly _alive_.

She pressed harder into the familiar strength of his chest, and drank in the comfort of his presence. His hair was long and unkempt, he smelled of grease and engine lubricant, and the stubble of his jaw was rough against the thin skin at her temples. But he'd tucked her beneath his chin as easily as he always had, and they fit together like pieces of a puzzle.

Neither of them had ever been perfect, but it had never mattered.

" _I love you,"_ she thought. _"I love you so much."_

And although she hadn't spoken the words aloud, he answered her anyway.


	5. Han, again

_4 - Han and Leia's farewell scene, Han's POV. Also incorporates some of my original thoughts about the hug before I knew where it fell in the movie._

 **Han**

Flying the _Falcon_ again, after all these years, he'd forgotten – for a while, at least – that he was an old man. And – although he'd never admit it, especially to Leia - he'd sort of been having fun.

But he'd missed her, every moment. Even in the years they'd lived together, he'd missed her whenever they'd been apart – from the moment he left their bed in the morning, right up until the moment she was back in his arms at night. She completed him. For thirty years he'd wondered what he'd done to deserve her at all.

He'd watched her crossing the landing field, toward the _Falcon_ , in full view of a thousand curious eyes. Her back was straight and her head was high. She walked with purpose, and the crowd parted for her. She stopped, a few steps away from him, and planted her hands on her hips. He knew that pose by heart.

"No matter how much we fought," she said at last, "I always hated watching you leave."

"That's why I left. To make you miss me." _If I stayed, you might stop missing me._

Her laughter was a welcome surprise. He hadn't heard it in so long. "I always missed you."

They laughed together, and it was easier than he'd guessed it would be. He heard himself say "I missed you, too." This wasn't what she'd been expecting from him, and she gave him a curious, but pleased look. He took a chance and said what he'd been thinking for the last hour. "Come on, it wasn't all bad, was it?"

At this she shook her head and without warning, tears spilled from her eyes. She never let anyone see her cry. Maybe she'd been thinking the same things as he had.

He took one long stride toward her and then he was pulling her in against him. Her head fit perfectly in the palm of his hand, and his fingers closed, tightly, in the fine threads of her hair. She slid her hands beneath his jacket, as she always did, settling them at the small of his back. This simple gesture was her way of giving their embrace an aura of intimacy while still maintaining the appearance of propriety, and his reaction was the same as it always had been. For a moment her shoulders shook as she laughed softly, nudging him with her hips to let him know she'd noticed, and then her laughter faded and he felt, rather than heard, the brief sniffle that was buried in the depths of his shirt. He knew she had the tears under control already, but his arms tightened around her anyway.

She was so small. In his mind she stood tall and proud, stronger than all of them. In his memory she was always full of fire and nerve and she never hesitated. But here, in his arms, she was a tired old woman carrying the weight of a galaxy on her shoulders, and her heart was breaking.

He wished, more than anything, that he could make things right. But he couldn't. No one could.

All he could do was hold her. It was all he had ever been able to do. It had always been enough.

" _I'm sorry, Leia_ ," he thought. " _I'm so sorry. I'm sorry I wasn't here when you needed me. I'm sorry I have to leave again."_ But the words wouldn't come. All he managed was her name, in a voice that was thick with pain and loss and regret.

Still hidden under his jacket, a slender hand trailed along his ribs and came up to rest on his chest, her palm spread flat over his pounding heart. She understood. She'd always understood.

He tipped his head back to tuck her against the hollow of his throat, breathing in her scent and savoring the soft brush of her hair beneath his chin.

He'd never been good with words. It didn't matter, though - because there was really only one thing to say. It was what he always said.

"I know."


	6. Han and Leia

_Since I'm going AU here, it occurred to me there's no reason I have to stick with what the film actually showed us. So here's my take on Han and Leia's reunion, with what I hope is more in-character dialogue._

 **Reshoot: Han and Leia**

Resistance fighters poured out of the transport, disbursing quickly to create a perimeter. No one paid any attention to the old man standing still, staring at the transport's open hatch, waiting.

He felt her eyes on him before he saw her, emerging from the dark interior of the ship. She strode directly to him, without hesitation, and without acknowledging any of the personnel around her. Her arms were folded across her chest and her lips were a thin line. Her eyes roamed the chaotic scene in front of her and, unbidden, the words fell from his mouth as they always had.

"Leia, it's not my fault."

In an instant, her face softened into the precious and particular smile that was only for him. "It's always your fault."

"No, it's not!" he protested, a hint of indignation creeping into his tone.

"Of course it is," she responded, matter-of-factly and laughed delightedly as Chewie growled his agreement. She strode toward the big Wookiee, who lifted her off her feet with his enthusiastic greeting. "It's so good to see you, Chewie. I assume he's been getting you into trouble as usual?"

As the Wookiee provided Leia with an extensive listing of Han's recent failings, Solo stepped closer, his fingers dropping lightly against her sleeve. "All right, enough of that. Don't I get a hug, too?"

"Of course you do." His arm fell naturally around her shoulders as she turned back towards him, sliding a hand beneath his jacket and stretching as far around his waist as she could reach to return his embrace. "It's good to see you, too, Han," she added, quietly, her words muffled against his chest.

"You changed your hair." It wasn't what he'd meant to say, and her head cocked slightly to the side as she looked up at him, her smile widening.

"I did. Do you like it?"

His fingers traced along her hairline. "I do." He lowered his voice to a teasing rumble against her ear. "Makes you look younger." It was true - although the hairstyle itself was not especially flattering, it was so reminiscent of the braids she'd worn when he'd first met her that he found himself seeing the young girl she had been and not the old woman she'd become.

This earned him an elbow in the ribs. "Liar," she quipped, reaching up to ruffle his untidy, greying fringe. "You're certainly overdue for a haircut."

"I thought you liked me scruffy."

Her dark eyes twinkled at this, but she made no comment, simply brushing at the dirt on his shirt. "Don't you ever change your jacket?"

He looked down at his torso, confused at her statement. "It's a new jacket," he insisted, defensively, although he had to admit that after the day he'd had, the condition of said jacket no longer could be described as "new".

Smiling sadly, she shook her head gently, and he understood all at once that she was seeing the same echo in him that he'd seen in her, remembering another jacket that he'd worn constantly, defiantly flaunting his lack of a uniform.

He felt his own smile fade. Who was he kidding? He wasn't that brash young smuggler any more, no matter how hard he tried to maintain the façade. He was an old man, and running away hadn't made anything better.

Maybe Maz was right. Maybe it was time to go home.


End file.
